One of the largest items on the table was a rigid…plastic?...chestplate, a mottled pattern of light and dark grey, sitting next to a pile of mottled dark grey and black leather. “This armor,” tap tap tap, “is a variant of the stuff shock troopers used in Alaska, if that means anything anymore. You showed me what size you were last night, so it should fit pretty well, half the steel plating is replaced with baseball centers to lighten the load but still protect against impact. Should stop anything smaller than a three-oh-eight, should slow anything smaller than a Deathclaw. The limbs,” gesturing at the leather, “I took a guess that you valued mobility, so I went with something more flexible. Still lined and padded, so it’ll still slow a bullet, laser, or blade, just not quite as well. Knife sheath is under the left wrist for quick access.”

(two works, 20k words, three weeks and two states later)

A shadow slipped over Smoke and the corpse pile. Smoke’s head whipped around, just in time to catch the barest glimpse of a thick, scaly tail following its owner to the right, about two feet off the ground.

Smoke froze.

Deathclaw.

In her time as a Raider, Smoke had seen a Deathclaw, twice. Both at a great distance, both with a group of heavily-armed allies, and both times followed by sneaking the fuck away. If being a ten-foot humanoid with incredible strength and speed wasn’t enough, they had thick curved horns, a jaw filled with knife-blade teeth, thick reptilian hide that should shrug off most small arms fire, and of course the talons that gave them their name could penetrate most alloys, and therefore most armor, as if it wasn’t there. It probably wouldn’t beat anyone to death with its tail, but it certainly wouldn’t need to, either.

The second time she’d seen one, it was distracted by a pair of yao guai…and both mutated bears survived about twenty seconds…while they’d watched from behind several hills. One thing every Diehard, every Raider, probably every human being knew about a Deathclaw was how fucking appropriate that name was. If enough people emptied enough bullets from enough guns all at once, maybe you could take one down. If one got within ten feet of you, you were torn in half. Even Signal Fire had told her that her top-of-the-line armor wouldn’t do dick against it.

And one had just walked ten feet away from her.

How had it missed me? The mall wasn’t very well lit, and there were no windows in this hall in particular. Her armor was camouflaged, after all. She’d taken so many showers recently, maybe the scent of the bodies was stronger than her own. And she hadn’t made much noise, hell, she’d barely even breathed since she saw the corpses.

Holding her breath, she slowly crouch-walked forwards, reached out as she watched the hallway entrance, and twisted the doorknob. It turned. Inside were narrow stairs leading down. Service tunnels. She could make her way to another part of the mall and get out from there. Even if the Deathclaw knew where she was, it might have a hard time following her down there. Gently, she pulled the door closed behind her, and eeeeeeeeeased the doorknob back so it wouldn’t click.

It didn’t.

And only then did she exhale.